


everywhere at the end of time

by Shadowlit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, Wilbur Soot-centric, amnesiac wilbur x100
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowlit/pseuds/Shadowlit
Summary: He doesn't remember. He doesn't remember, he doesn't remember he does̶n'̶t̷ ̸r̸e̴̲͌m̸͗ͅe̸̩̒m̸̲̉b̶͓ȅ̶͎r̴̦̿ ̵̡̒-...What was he trying to remember, again?(Or: what if Wilbur kept forgetting?)
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Everyone
Comments: 5
Kudos: 107





	everywhere at the end of time

**Author's Note:**

> so i listened to everywhere at the end of time (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJWksPWDKOc) and....got inspired. it's currently 4am and i can already tell that i'm going to regret this.
> 
> i'm sorry (but not sorry enough to stop).

Something was wrong. Something was wrong, and something inside Wilbur knew it the moment he awoke. Well, for a given measure of 'awake'. Ghosts can't really sleep, after all. Just another thing he's lost.

In any case, Wilbur stirs awake for the first ( _ last _ ) time not over his dead body, like he'd expected, but rather in an endless, blank void of nothing. There is nothing around him, as far as he can see - no blocks, no ground, no sun or moon or even stars to speak of. Just a void so  _ void  _ that his eyes imagine shapes to fill the nothing. Squiggly little lines and afterimages flutter in his vision, dancing around the periphery of his sight, vanishing the moment he looks at them properly. 

Distantly, Wilbur raises his hands, and he can see how gray and pale they are, how the blackness of the void surrounding him shows through them. Another check reveals that he's wearing his favorite yellow cardigan, with a beanie on his head and simple black jeans. It's comfortable. Familiar. Safe, in a way he hasn't felt in....

He can't remember.

His chest hurts. He holds it for a second, confused, before the memories come flooding back, and Wilbur staggers (he can't stagger, he can't do anything, he's _dead)_ and curls around his deathblow protectively, gasping against the pain that floods his mind. The fragments of his mind - so carefully recovered, so fragile - scatter like a flock of birds from the memory of the way the sword had plunged into his chest, the pain of the enchantments burning from the inside out ( _if he was burning, then why was it so_ ** _cold),_** the _look_ on his father's face as Wilbur had clutched desperately at his sleeve, his shoulder, anything because it hurt it hurt it hurt it huṙ̷̥t̶̼̏̕ ̵̇i̶͐t̵̪͋ ̶̻͆̽ **h** **̸** **̀** **̜͚** **u** **̶̜̲̓** **r** **̶̤̝** **t** **̸** **̉** **̡ͅ** **-**

The waiting void silently swallows the memories that Wilbur flings at it,  _ (running through a cold forest listening waiting terrified paranoid they're on your tail - "Tommy, are we the bad guys?" - a pale smiling mask and the sensation of TNT dropping into his hands, left by a careless god" - DREAM, LET ME BE YOUR VASSAL")  _ trying to rid himself of the desperation and fear and  _ cold -  _

Wilbur keeps going, keeps burning the visions  _ (a single stack of TNT setting off so many more, so many that the earth itself tore, screaming - quietly counting down, watching his right hand man, his friend, a child that he forced into soldier's clothes stepping away – an arrow strikes true, and he is drifting slowly in the water, blood mushrooming around him)  _ in the cold until finally,  _ finally _ \- 

_ (He's dueling with Technoblade in an empty clearing. Wilbur's much more beat up than Techno is, but neither are hurt more than minor scrapes and bruises from fists thrown just a bit too hard. Wilbur grins, cocky, as he raises his fist towards Techno. The sun lances through the trees, setting them all aglow with gold and painting the two of them in shades of light. Techno grins back, feral and sharp, and they leap at the same time, slamming into each other with childish laughs and giggles as they wrestle in the clearing, and Wilbur feels so, so _ **_warm_ ** _.) _

\- the black void recedes a little bit. Wilbur can feel his body now.

_ (Fundy mewls, a soft sound that's so adorable Wilbur swears his heart melts on the spot. Wilbur feels simultaneously invincible and so fragile at the same time. He would take on the world and win just to keep his boy in his arms, and he shifts the blanket he’s swaddled his son in protectively as warmth blooms in his chest, drowning out the endless cold.) _

_ (Tommy meets Wilbur’s eyes and flashes a smile, and for once it’s not one of his smirks or wild grins he makes when he's planning another prank. It's just happy delight, and it fills Wilbur with an unfamiliar but not unwelcome joy.) _

The cold slips further away, and  _ now  _ Wilbur can feel the heat of the enchanted flames from the wound - but instead of burning him, they're just warm. So, so warm. And Wilbur clings to the feeling, rifling through his memories,

_ (Wilbur stands on a podium, looking out across L'Manberg -  _ **_his_ ** _ nation, watching the citizens' waiting eyes, feeling the pride rise through him because he'd fought a war for this, his right hand man and so many more sacrificed  _ **_so_ ** _ much - but they're here, now. They've won. They're free, and they're holding an election because they're  _ **_free_ ** _ to do that now, free to choose and love and be, free from the brutality and tyranny of their rulers)  _

grabbing on to the ones that make the flames burn brighter with the desperation of a dying man, letting them - 

_ (The coalition government of Schlatt and SWAG2020 got  _ **_46%_ ** _ of the vote, meaning that Schlatt2020 has been inaugurated as president) _

_ (My FIRST DECREE, AS PRESIDENT OF L'MANBERG-) _

The void rises up with a choking vengeance, the previous warmth blown out in an instant as the black tar swallows it. Wilbur chokes on the sob that tries to tear out of his throat, because  _ goddammit  _ he's tired. He's so, so tired. 

So he lets the void have that memory and the ones that follow  _ (I WANNA SEE WHITE FLAGS, WHITE FLAGS OUTSIDE YOUR BASE – an eye flashes, it was never meant to be – the blackstone walls of L’Manberg thunder to the ground, terrible and final, the sun rises bloody and true)  _ with a painfully familiar ease. 

He's so tired of being cold, and if giving up a few memories  _ (a part of who he is, who he was, and ripping them away burns with cold but it's not as bad as how blowing up  _ _ L' _ _ Manberg felt and he's so tired, so tired)  _ will bring him warmth a little bit faster, then he'll gladly do it. He’d do anything, at this point.

Anything to escape this gaping empty  _ cold.  _

The void finishes soon enough, and Wilbur is left with nothing but warm memories, and they are warm and beautiful and so soft and comfortable that he buries himself in them, curls up until he can pretend like he needs nothing else in the world. 

  
  


Since when did he ever need anything else? 

  
  
  
  


What was 'anything else', again?

Wilbur opens his eyes to find himself in the Dream SMP spawn. He remembers being here  _ (Tommy, grinning like a devil, appearing from nowhere and flinging himself at Wilbur, nearly knocking them both over with the force of the hug - "YOU'RE HERE! YOU'RE HERE!!" )  _ but beyond that his memories...flicker, slightly. Like an old record, popping and cracking with age and wear. They...seem to  _ echo,  _ almost, as though in a massive empty chamber, and something in Wilbur murmurs  _ something is wrong, something is missing -  _

But they're so warm, and so kind, and the rest of Wilbur is tired, a bone deep, endless exhaustion and he doesn't  _ want  _ to think about them. He doesn't want to think about something so soft, so good, in case it evaporates and he will be  **c** **̶̛̦͓̓͆** **o** **̷̱̱̞̬̟̤̦͒̌̈́̾̇̾͒̚** **l** **̷̘͔͑̈́̋͘** **d** **̶͙̻͈̼͌ͅ** again. 

So he carefully tosses the murmuring voice into the back of his mind and lets the warm memories echo in his head, overlaying his mind until it's all he can feel, an endless warmth that seems to fill his whole body with sunlight.    
  
_ (And if they seem a little more worn after that, a few more pops and crackles, a bit more static playing when he lets them sing again in his mind, Wilbur ignores it entirely.  _

_ It's fine.  _

_ It's fine.  _

_ He's not cold anymore.  _ ~~_ When was he ever cold _ ~~ _ It's fine!) _

Wilbur quickly and easily finds the opening in the wall out of spawn. It doesn't take him long to get his bearings, and he's heading towards L'Manberg, a spring in his step and warmth in his chest. Hopefully they haven't suffered too much in his absence. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> im sorry (but not really)
> 
> comments and kudos feed my soul so please leave one if you liked it <3


End file.
